A/N: Hello, everyone! I've been an avid fanfic reader for over a year now and finally decided to take the plunge and write something. This is the first time that people have, really, seen my work; I'm terrified! Still, I'm dead excited, too. If one person reads this and likes it, I think it might just make my week (I'm having a terrible week...school sucks!) All crit is welcomed. I'll stop rambling now...

"Ron, for the last time, you can't have the chalet in Chamonix!" Hermione Granger cried, growing increasingly aggravated with her husband.

"Hermione, be reasonable," he tried, ignoring her snort. "You don't even like snow and, what's more, you don't like going on holiday."

She ran her hands through her thick hair and pinched the bridge of her nose, breathing deeply. "That is not the point. It was my first big purchase with the patent money, and I'm keeping it. End of."

After the war, Hermione had turned her efforts towards rehabilitating veterans and, in the process of developing existing potions, she had discovered a clever new pain potion. It was one of the most effective over-the-counter potions and had quickly become a best seller. Upon her lawyer's advice, she bought the patent; the royalties had made her a pretty penny, while the discovery had gained much critical acclaim. She really was turning out to be the brightest witch of her generation, onlookers remarked.

Some of the same onlookers whispered how strange it was that she had settled with Ron Weasley. It was known that he was neither the brains nor the soul of the Golden Trio. What did he bring to the cauldron, they asked? Brawn? In any case, a witch of her calibre could have had so much better. Fewer still muttered that there were a number of pureblood wizards willing to throw down the constraints of tradition, given a chance to woo her. Still, she chose the Weasley, and that was that.

The said Weasley had been married to her long enough to know that when she was this adamant about something, wild hippogriffs couldn't keep her away.

"Fine," he pouted. "But I'm not happy–"

Hermione glanced up from her desk, to see his disembodied head shaking slightly, and interrupted. "Ron, with all due respect, I haven't been happy in a long, long time. Let's just get on with it." She could feel a headache coming on, and she knew from experience that Ronald Weasley induced headaches were very painful, indeed.

Suitably miffed, Ron consulted a list next to him. To Hermione, it looked very odd; while she knew what he was doing, she could only see him turning his head and briefly "oooohing" and "aaaahing".

"Ron!"

"Gimme a minute!" He yelled back.

She rolled her eyes. How on earth had she managed to stay married to him for so long? She sighed and consulted her own list while waiting for him to continue.

"The apartment in Tokyo?" He suggested, hopefully.

"You don't speak Japanese, you don't like sushi and you can't spell anime," Hermione deadpanned, trying to hide her smirk.

"Yes, yes, good one. Laugh at your own bloody joke. I want it, for reasons that will remain my own," he muttered.

Hermione could not resist needling him. Adopting a more reproachful tone, she lectured: "You know they don't take kindly to sex tourism, Ron!"

"Oh, shut up!" His face instantly grew hot and he could feel the blush spreading from his cheeks to his ears, until his face was indistinguishable from his hair. Perhaps, Hermione reasoned with herself, that was a slight over-exaggeration. His hair and his blushing cheeks were different shades of red, just equally as bright. She giggled, it was just so easy to get a rise out of him, she thought.

"You were the one who wanted this, Hermione. Why the hell can't you take it seriously?"

"And what in Merlin's name is that supposed to mean?" She demanded, mood sobering immediately. "Admittedly, I haven't been happy for a long time, but I believe it was walking in on you screwing Susan Bones," she spat the other woman's name, before continuing, "six ways from Sunday that finally snapped me out of my stupor!"

Ron was making a conscious effort to avoid eye-contact. He had walked into this one, he realised.

"How many times would you like to apologise for that?" He asked sadly. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Hermione."

Despite her best efforts, Hermione felt moisture gather in her eyes.

"Until I don't feel so humiliated. Am I such a sad excuse for a woman that I couldn't keep my own husband, the man I once considered to be my best friend, from straying?" She whispered the second part to herself, and Ron didn't answer. She took his silence as an affirmative, but he didn't trust himself to say anything that wouldn't make things worse; she wouldn't believe him if he denied it, and she'd curse him something terrible if he agreed.

It's just that she had been spending so much time at St Mungo's, he thought back. It didn't sound like much, but he had been lonely. And when Susan arrived at the Ministry and was assigned to his department, she picked up on his unhappiness. Being with her made it go away, at least for a time. Of course he had felt guilty, but it became like taking muggle drugs; seeing Susan became like getting his fix. Instead of resenting Hermione for working as hard as she did, he would fuck Susan and get it out of his system before she came home. It was genius, really. Like most men hiding an affair, he never accounted for the 'coming home early' scenario.

While he had been thinking, Hermione had been composing herself. She quickly brushed the tears from her face and took a steeling breath.

"Grimmauld Place," she stated.

"I'm not even gonna try to take that from you," Ron understood her need to keep the former safe house.

Their bargaining continued. Ron kept his rare brooms collection, one of the rarest and most valuable in wizarding England, and Hermione kept every book in their library, including the first edition Gryffindor quidditch playbooks. It might have been petty, but books were hers. They were her thing. Always had been, always would be. She relinquished the Japanese apartment and their summer home in Paris, as well as a townhouse in London, and he offered to tell their friends and his family if she told their children.

Hermione was not looking forward to explaining the situation to their son and daughter. She supposed she had until Christmas until she had to say something; they had only left for Hogwarts a little under a fortnight ago.

Just as they were making arrangements for their lawyers to meet and go over the details of their divorce settlement, an owl flew in her window, landing gracefully on the edge of her desk. Tied to its right foot was a small roll of parchment. She untied the ribbon holding it closed and had hardly begun reading the letter when Professor McGonnagal's voice echoed in the room.

"Dear Mrs Weasley,

I trust you and Ronald are well and that work as a healer is proving to be as satisfying as you envisioned as a girl. Unfortunately, I do not write simply to exchange pleasantries. I would like you to meet me at Hogwarts at your nearest convenience. A situation arose recently, which resulted in one of your children being placed in an extremely compromising position. While the issue is being dealt with within the school, Padma and I feel as though it would be best for you to be aware of certain developments. Please send your reply with Aries. Oh, and Hermione, dear? Give him a little something to eat before he makes the journey back, would you?

Minerva."

Hermione groaned to herself as she poured a bowl of water for the owl. This would be the sixth time this year she had been called into Hogwarts to take responsibility for one of Hugo's wayward pranks. He and Albus were very competitive with their practical jokes, and they felt as though they constantly had to better each other. It did not help that Ron and Harry thought it was hilarious, not to mention George kept supplying them with experimental Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes products. Each product seemed more dangerous and less sensible than the last. Of course, this was its appeal. Hermione would never admit that watching Hugo lust after Pansy Parkinson and Viktor Krum's daughter, Vela, caused by a wayward love potion, was one of the funniest things she had ever witnessed. Nor would she admit just how proud she was of her son for mastering the Densaugeo curse, in retaliation. She would never forget the panic in Albus' eyes as his teeth grew at such an exponential rate. She giggled at the memory.

Having fed and watered Aries, she attached her note to his leg and led him towards the window before watching him fly away, until he was a speck on the horizon.

As she readied herself for bed that night, she felt a twinge of loneliness. It had been so long since her marriage had felt real, and it had been months since she and Ron had been intimate, and while she didn't miss him, she missed a man's touch. She sighed and prepared herself for another night of fitful sleep, but not before taking the edge of her need.

She lay down in bed and pulled the duvet up to her chin. Her fingers began grazing the sides of her breasts, relaxing her. She dipped her finger inside her camisole, and found herself tracing the outline of her nipple. It had already hardened, responding to her touch. She lightly pinched it, beginning to feel a comfortable warmth come alive between her legs. Tired and frustrated, she did not want to deny herself what she needed, and pushing down her knickers, she sighed happily as her fingers made contact with her wet core. She slid two fingers into herself, and gently rubbed her clit with her thumb. But she wasn't looking for a gentle climax. Today, she needed to come and come hard, if she was to get this melancholia out of her system. Her tempo increased and her fingers slid in and out easily, as her hips bucked to meet them. Each thrust created a fiery burn from the inside out. After a few minutes of rushed stroking, she was openly panting and biting her lip with the force of being so close. Not once did she miss a beat on her clit, either. If anything, her thumb moved with such speed that it was virtually a blur. When she felt herself approaching the edge, she took a deep breath and moaned, pumping her fingers into herself harder than she ever had before. Eventually, moaning, she felt herself explode.

Satiated, riding the hedonistic afterglow, she had one thought. She had never expected to picture Ron's face when she orgasmed. She did picture a man, however. He seemed vaguely familiar to her, but she could not recall his face. Just a shock of cold, grey eyes staring into her own as he kissed her between her legs. The image had been so strong that, for a moment, when her mobility returned, she sat up in bed and glanced around her room for a sign that he had been with her. Chastising herself for being so foolish, she chalked it up to a harmless fantasy and fell asleep.

Hermione awoke with a start the next morning. Thinking back to McGonnagal's letter the night before, she recalled reading that Padma Patil, Head of Ravenclaw, had to intervene. But Hugo was in Gryffindor, and not only was Neville Head of Gryffindor, he was a good friend and was used to dealing with Hugo when he got a little out of line. Perhaps Albus had not been on the receiving end of his sense of humour, then. The thought that Rose was the problem never crossed her mind.

A/N: One chapter's up. There's no going back now, is there?